Unlocking Melodies (Oakwood Grove #3)

20. Just Like The First Time

Chapter 20

Just Like The First Time

T he opening notes of a country song drifted up from The Watering Hole as I absently strummed my guitar, trying to work out a melody that had been haunting me since that afternoon. My fingers kept finding their way back to that unfinished piece Ethan and I had played together, muscle memory apparently having opinions about my evening plans.

A knock at the door startled me out of my musical rabbit hole. I set down the guitar - carefully, because Past Jimmy apparently had strong feelings about proper instrument storage - and padded across the worn floorboards in my extremely unofficial loungewear. My socks whispered against the wood, a sound that somehow felt both foreign and familiar, like everything else in this place I was supposed to call home.

When I opened the door, my brain temporarily short-circuited.

Ethan stood on my porch, bathed in the golden glow of lights that Mrs. Henderson had definitely repositioned “for better ambiance” (and possibly surveillance). He wore a cream-colored sweater that looked soft enough to be illegal, paired with dark jeans that made me temporarily forget how words worked. His hair was slightly disheveled, like he'd been running his hands through it - a nervous tell I'd started recognizing despite my stubborn memory gaps.

“Hey,” he said softly, producing a bouquet of wildflowers that looked suspiciously like they'd come from Mrs. Henderson's prized garden. I made a mental note to check later if she'd been a willing accomplice or if Oakwood Grove was about to have its first flower-theft scandal.

“I thought...” He cleared his throat, looking endearingly uncertain for someone who regularly handled billion-dollar negotiations. “I thought maybe we could go out tonight?”

I glanced down at my current ensemble - a faded band t-shirt that had definitely seen better days and sweatpants that probably wouldn't meet the dress code of anywhere except maybe a very laid-back yoga studio.

“I'm not exactly dressed for whatever you're planning,” I managed, trying not to be distracted by how the porch light caught his eyes. “Unless your master plan involves a very casual pajama party.”

His laugh was warm, nothing like his careful corporate chuckles. “You look perfect to me.” Then, catching himself being earnest, he added with a smirk, “Though I suppose if you want to maintain my reputation as a discerning business mogul, you could change.”

“Oh, we wouldn't want to damage your carefully cultivated image.” I fought back a grin. “I'm sure Mrs. Henderson's opera glasses can pick up fashion faux pas from at least three blocks away.”

“Speaking of which,” he glanced around suspiciously, “I'm pretty sure I saw movement in her hydrangea bushes on my way up.”

“The Surveillance Squad never rests.” I stepped back, gesturing vaguely at my general dishevelment. “Give me five minutes to transform into something more suitable for public viewing?”

“Take your time.” His smile turned soft. “We've got all night.”

Something about the way he said it made my heart do complicated gymnastics in my chest. I retreated to my bedroom, where Past Jimmy's meticulously organized closet mocked my current fashion crisis.

“Okay,” I muttered to the row of carefully arranged shirts, “what would you wear for an impromptu date with the guy who makes your pulse do weird things but you can't remember why?”

The clothes, unsurprisingly, didn't answer. But my hands seemed to know what they were doing, reaching for a soft blue button-down that somehow felt right. Like maybe Past Jimmy had worn it for other moments that mattered.

I emerged five minutes later (okay, maybe seven, but who was counting?) to find Ethan had made himself at home on my couch, examining the guitar I'd abandoned with careful interest.

“You were playing earlier,” he said, not quite a question.

“Trying to.” I ran a hand through my hopefully-presentable hair. “Though I'm pretty sure Past Jimmy was better at it.”

“You know,” he set the guitar down with gentle reverence, “you don't have to keep comparing yourself to who you were.”

The simple observation hit harder than it should have. Before I could stumble into deeper emotional territory, he stood and offered his arm with exaggerated formality.

“Ready to scandalize the town gossips?”

“Pretty sure that ship sailed around the duck pond incident.” But I took his arm anyway, trying to ignore how natural it felt. “Should I be concerned that you're technically kidnapping me without sharing the destination?”

“Definitely.” His grin was mischievous. “Though I promise it doesn't involve helicopters this time.”

“My hero.” I locked up, pretending not to notice the distinct flash of opera glasses from Mrs. Henderson's conveniently located second-floor window. “Let me guess - Sky's already updated spreadsheets?”

“Bold of you to assume they ever stop updating them.” He led me toward his ridiculous car, which somehow looked both completely out of place and perfectly at home in front of my modest guest house. “I heard there's a whole tab dedicated to our evening plans.”

“Only one? The statistics committee is slacking.”

As we walked down the path, I caught movement in at least three strategically placed bushes. The town's surveillance game was getting more sophisticated - or maybe just more obvious in their investment in our potential romance.

“So,” I said as Ethan opened the car door with a flourish that definitely didn't make my heart skip, “do I get any hints about where we're going?”

His smile was enigmatic. “Let's just say I got some very specific advice from a particular duck about appropriate date locations.”

“Oh god.” I buckled in, fighting back a laugh. “Please tell me Mr. Quackers hasn't become your social coordinator.”

“He's very persuasive for someone who communicates primarily through bread-based economics.”

As we pulled away, I caught one last glimpse of my porch - now mysteriously decorated with additional fairy lights that definitely hadn't been there earlier. Somewhere in the gathering dusk, I was pretty sure I heard Mrs. Henderson's muffled squeal of delight.

The night stretched ahead, full of possibilities I couldn't remember but somehow felt ready to discover. Maybe some things didn't need memory to be worth experiencing again for the first time.

We drove past the town limits, leaving behind the warm glow of Oakwood Grove's carefully maintained charm. Ethan seemed to know exactly where he was going, navigating the winding back roads with the kind of confidence that made me wonder if he'd practiced this route.

“You're not taking me somewhere to dramatically reveal you're actually a serial killer, are you?” I asked as we turned onto a dirt path I'd never noticed before. “Because I have to warn you, Nina has a very specific set of skills when it comes to revenge scenarios.”

His laugh echoed in the car's ridiculously well-designed acoustic interior. “No murder plans tonight. Though I am interested in hearing more about Nina's revenge scenarios.”

The car slowed as we approached what looked like a wall of trees. But then Ethan guided us through a barely visible opening, and my breath caught in my throat.

A small clearing opened up before us, nestled against the lake like nature had designed it specifically for this moment. Lanterns lined the path from where we parked, their warm light dancing with shadows from the surrounding pines. The air was alive with the scent of wildflowers and water, crisp and sweet and somehow perfect.

“Ethan...” I stopped in my tracks, words failing me as I took in the scene.

A small table sat near the water's edge, draped in what looked suspiciously like one of Mrs. Henderson's prized vintage tablecloths. Candles flickered in mason jars, their light mixing with fairy strings woven through the trees. The whole setting looked like something from a movie, but with a careful attention to detail that felt uniquely personal.

“It's nothing fancy,” he said, and I caught that nervous hand-through-hair gesture again. “Just thought we could use a little magic tonight.”

“Nothing fancy,” I repeated faintly, still staring at the transformed clearing. “Right. Because everyone casually creates enchanted forests in their spare time.”

“Well, I had help.” He guided me toward the table with a gentle hand on my lower back. “Turns out your town is very invested in romantic gestures. Mrs. Henderson contributed the tablecloth, Nina handled the lighting design, and I'm pretty sure Riley's documenting everything from behind that large oak tree.”

I glanced where he pointed and caught a distinctive flash of notebook paper. “Our own personal paparazzi. How thoughtful.”

“Small towns run on gossip and good intentions,” he quoted, pulling out my chair with exaggerated gallantry. “Though I did manage to convince them we didn't need the full orchestra they suggested.”

“They wanted an orchestra?”

“Mrs. Henderson knows a guy.” He settled across from me, the candlelight making his eyes impossibly green. “Apparently he does weddings and 'romantic revelations of profound significance.'”

“Those are very specific service offerings.”

“Oakwood Grove has very specific needs.”

He reached for what looked like a high-end picnic basket - probably hand-crafted by artisan basket-weavers in some remote mountain village. But when he opened it, the contents made my chest tight in the best way.

“You didn't,” I breathed, watching him unpack familiar containers.

“Sarah might have helped with the menu planning.” He laid out grilled cheese sandwiches that looked exactly like the ones I'd attempted to recreate earlier, along with thermoses of what smelled like Tony's famous tomato soup. “Though I did manage to talk her down from a seven-course tasting menu. She had opinions about proper romantic progression through food groups.”

A bottle of sparkling cider completed the spread - not wine, not champagne, just simple bubbles that somehow felt exactly right.

“I wanted something that felt like home,” he explained softly, pouring the cider into actual crystal glasses that probably cost more than my monthly rent. “Not some fancy restaurant where we'd have to worry about using the right fork.”

“Bold of you to assume I know which fork to use in any situation.” I picked up half a perfectly grilled sandwich, marveling at how something so simple could feel so significant. “Though I have to say, this is much better than my earlier cooking attempt.”

“About that...” His smile turned teasing. “I heard the smoke alarm had some concerns about your culinary adventures.”

“The smoke alarm is a drama queen who overreacts to perfectly normal kitchen experiments.”

“Is that what we're calling it now? Experiments?”

“Hey, some of the best scientific discoveries came from accidents.”

“Pretty sure none of them involved burning water.”

The banter felt easy, natural, like we'd done this a thousand times before. Maybe we had. But right then, with the lake reflecting starlight and candles casting shadows that danced like memories, it didn't matter what I couldn't remember. This moment was perfect exactly as it was.

“You know,” I said, watching him somehow make eating grilled cheese look elegant, “Past Jimmy probably would have tried to impress you with something fancy.”

“Past Jimmy,” he replied with surprising firmness, “once convinced me to skip a black-tie gala to eat pizza on a practice room floor.” His smile turned soft, reminiscent. “He knew then what I think you're learning now - sometimes the simplest moments are the most magical.”

A breeze rippled across the lake, carrying the sound of distant crickets and what I strongly suspected was Riley narrating into his phone for posterity. But even our not-so-subtle audience couldn't break the spell of this perfect setting.

“Though I have to admit,” Ethan added, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “getting Mrs. Henderson to part with her favorite tablecloth required significantly more negotiation skills than my last corporate merger.”

“Let me guess - she made you sign a contract in blood?”

“Actually, I had to promise three separate appearances at her bridge club. Apparently, they're very interested in my opinions on proper pastry technique.”

The mental image of Ethan, tech billionaire CEO, discussing scone recipes with Oakwood Grove's most enthusiastic gossips made me laugh so hard I nearly choked on my soup.

“I never thought I'd say this,” I managed once I could breathe again, “but I think small-town life suits you.”

The way he looked at me then - soft and open and completely unguarded - made every candle flame seem brighter, every star overhead shine clearer.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, reaching across the table to take my hand. “I think it really does.”

Behind us, I definitely heard a muffled squeal that sounded suspiciously like Nina. But with Ethan's hand warm in mine and the lake reflecting our own private constellation of fairy lights, I couldn't bring myself to care about our enthusiastic audience.

The conversation flowed as naturally as the lake's gentle ripples, moving from silly stories to deeper waters with an ease that should have felt strange given my memory gaps but somehow didn't. Ethan told me about his first attempt at corporate negotiations - apparently fourteen-year-old Ethan had tried to leverage his allowance into controlling shares of his father's company using trading cards as collateral.

“In my defense,” he said, reaching for another sandwich half, “they were first edition.”

“I'm sure the board was very impressed with your innovative investment strategy.”

“Oh, completely. Dad still has the proposal framed in his office.” His smile turned softer, more reflective. “Though I think he keeps it more as a reminder that some things are worth more than market value.”

The way he looked at me then made my chest tight. Like maybe he wasn't just talking about trading cards anymore.

Ethan reached across the table suddenly, his fingers brushing my cheek with surprising gentleness. “You had a...” He paused, thumb lingering just a moment too long. “Crumb.”

The touch sent electricity racing through my veins, making every nerve ending feel alive and aware. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause - just us, this moment, and probably several extremely invested observers hiding in the surrounding foliage.

“Thanks,” I managed, my voice embarrassingly unsteady.

His hand retreated slowly, like maybe he didn't want to break the connection either. The air between us felt charged, heavy with things we weren't quite saying but could somehow feel anyway.

After we finished eating, Ethan stood with sudden purpose, holding out his hand. "Come with me."

I raised an eyebrow but let him pull me to my feet. "Where are we going?"

"You’ll see," he said with a grin, leading me toward the edge of the clearing. The fairy lights around us twinkled brighter against the growing darkness, turning the night into a storybook scene. I stumbled slightly on a tree root, but his hand tightened around mine, steadying me.

“Careful there. Can’t have you breaking something,” he teased.

“If I do, you’re carrying me back.”

“Deal.”

We stepped onto a narrow path lined with moss and wildflowers. Ethan stopped abruptly in front of a small, wooden dock jutting out into the lake. The water rippled softly in the moonlight, the reflection of the fairy lights turning it into a shimmering pool of gold.

He let go of my hand and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out something small and metallic. A lighter? No, it was too intricate. Before I could ask, he flicked it open, and a faint spark ignited. The tip of a candle wick caught fire, and soon the soft glow illuminated a glass jar. He placed it carefully on the edge of the dock, then pulled out another, and another, until a line of flickering lights traced the length of the wooden planks.

“Ethan, what is this?” I asked, my voice hushed.

He stepped back to admire his handiwork before turning to me. “You once told me you’d always wanted to send out a lantern like they do in the movies but never got the chance.”

My throat tightened. “That was years ago. I didn’t think you even remembered.”

“I remember a lot more than you give me credit for,” he said softly. His gaze met mine, steady and filled with something I couldn’t quite name but felt down to my bones. “So, tonight, we’re doing it. Come on.”

He handed me a paper lantern, the kind I’d only ever seen in old pictures or festivals on TV. It felt impossibly delicate in my hands. Ethan crouched down beside me, striking a match to light the small fuel cell inside.

“Make a wish,” he said as the flame caught, his voice almost a whisper.

“That’s not part of it,” I replied, but he shrugged, the corner of his mouth tilting up.

“Maybe not. But it feels right, doesn’t it?”

I stared at the lantern, the soft glow casting shadows over my hands. A million thoughts swirled in my mind, but one rose above the rest. The kind of wish you don’t say out loud because saying it might shatter it. When I finally looked back at Ethan, he was already watching me.

“Ready?” he asked, and the warmth in his voice made it impossible to look away.

I nodded. Together, we held the lantern aloft. For a moment, it hesitated, wobbling as if unsure whether it wanted to leave us. Then, with a sudden lift, it floated upward, joining the stars.

“There it goes,” Ethan murmured, his voice tinged with wonder.

I watched it climb higher, until it was just another point of light in the vast sky. “Thank you,” I said, my throat tight with unspoken emotions.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his hand brushing against mine. “For what it’s worth, I made a wish too.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you wish for?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Ethan’s smile turned small and private, the kind that made my chest ache. “If I tell you, it might not come true.”

“That’s not how it works,” I teased.

“Maybe not. But it feels right.”

The echo of his earlier words hung between us, weaving something fragile but unbreakable. We stayed there for a long time, watching the lantern’s glow until it faded into the night, and I wondered if he’d always been my wish, long before I knew I could make one.

“Our audience is getting emotional,” I whispered against Ethan's shoulder.

“Can you blame them? This is probably better than their usual evening entertainment.”

“You mean better than bridge club drama? I'm shocked.”

His chuckle rumbled through his chest, and I found myself closing my eyes, letting the moment wrap around me like a warm blanket.

“You know,” he said softly, his breath warm against my hair, “I used to dream about moments like this. During all those years when I thought I'd lost my chance.”

The simple honesty in his voice made my throat tight. “Ethan...”

“You don't have to say anything.” His arm tightened slightly around my waist. “I just... I want you to know that this — being here with you, even if you don't remember our past — it's more than I ever thought I'd get.”

“And what if I do remember one day?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended. The question hung in the air, trembling between hope and fear.

He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes searching mine. “Then it’ll be the best day of my life.”

His words settled over me like a promise, filling all the empty spaces I hadn’t realized were there. I didn’t know what to say, so I just leaned into him, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat remind me that sometimes, moments like these didn’t need words.

From somewhere in the bushes came a distinct sniffle that sounded suspiciously like Nina. I was pretty sure Riley was frantically taking notes, probably already planning tomorrow's headline: “Local Amnesiac and Tech Billionaire's Lakeside Romance: A Story in Three Acts (With Commentary from Enthusiastic Shrubbery).”

But none of that mattered. Not when Ethan was holding me like I was something precious, like this moment was everything he'd ever wanted.

“Though I have to say,” I murmured, unable to resist lightening the intensity, “our surveillance squad is getting very invested in this scene.”

“I'm pretty sure Mrs. Henderson is already planning the wedding.”

“Only pretty sure? She probably has the venue booked and color schemes selected.”

His laugh mixed with the music, creating a melody that felt like home. We kept swaying together under our canopy of lights, while somewhere in the surrounding trees, our audience probably updated several betting pools and at least two Pinterest boards.

But right then, wrapped in Ethan's arms with the lake reflecting our own private galaxy of lights, I couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

Some memories might be lost, but this moment? This was absolutely perfect exactly as it was.

Ethan's hands stayed warm and steady on my waist, anchoring me in a moment that felt both completely new and achingly familiar.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes, and suddenly the world narrowed to just us. The enthusiastic rustling from our hidden audience faded away, the lake's gentle lapping became distant background noise, and even the crickets seemed to hold their breath.

“I've been wanting to do this again,” Ethan murmured, his voice low and steady, like a confession meant only for me.

Before I could respond, he leaned in. His lips met mine with a certainty that stole my breath—a quiet intensity that spoke of years of longing and restraint finally unleashed. This kiss wasn’t soft or hesitant; it was deliberate, an unspoken promise in every brush of his lips.

A surge of warmth rushed through me, equal parts exhilarating and grounding. My heart raced, yet the world around us seemed to still. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a reckoning.

And then, like a flash of lightning in the dark, a memory flickered to life. Practice Room C at midnight. A piano bench cluttered with sheet music and coffee cups. His laugh—soft, melodic—cutting through the silence. And a kiss just like this, one that left me breathless and sure of something I couldn’t name.

When we broke apart, my chest heaved as if I’d surfaced from deep water. My hand instinctively reached for his, seeking an anchor as my mind reeled. Ethan’s thumb brushed gently against my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with concern.

Behind us, I could faintly hear someone in the shrubbery fail spectacularly at stifling a sob.

I let out a shaky laugh, my hand tightening on his. “I’m fine. Better than fine.” My voice cracked under the weight of what I was about to say. “I remembered something.”

His breath hitched, and his eyes searched mine, hope and hesitation flickering like a candle caught in the wind. “What did you remember?”

“The first time we kissed,” I whispered, the memory vivid and alive now. “Not all of it, but... enough. It felt like the world shifted under me, like nothing was steady anymore, except you. Except us.”

Ethan exhaled slowly, his forehead resting against mine. “That’s exactly how I felt,” he said softly. “Like nothing else mattered.”

The raw honesty in his voice unraveled something in me, and I found myself holding onto him a little tighter, as if I’d lose the moment if I let go.

A tear escaped despite my best efforts at maintaining dignity, but before I could brush it away, Ethan's thumb caught it. His touch was impossibly gentle, like I was something precious he was afraid might break.

“It was just a flash,” I continued, wanting him to understand. “But it felt so real. Like muscle memory but for feelings instead of music.”

Ethan pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me with careful certainty. “We'll figure it out,” he whispered against my hair. “Together this time.”

I nodded against his chest, breathing in the familiar-unfamiliar scent of his ridiculously expensive sweater. The weight of all my missing memories, all the pressure to be someone I couldn't quite remember - it felt lighter somehow. Like maybe the gaps in my past didn't matter as much as the possibility of this future.

“Though I have to say,” I mumbled into his shoulder, needing to break the intensity before I completely lost my composure, “I think we just gave Riley enough material for a three-part feature series.”

Ethan's laugh rumbled through his chest. “Pretty sure Mrs. Henderson's already called the local paper. And possibly several wedding venues.”

“Only several? She's losing her touch.”

We stood there in our circle of fairy lights, holding each other while the lake painted silver paths across dark water and our surveillance squad probably updated every social media platform in town. The moment felt perfect - not because I remembered everything, but because maybe I didn't need to.

I pulled back just enough to see his face, which was doing complicated things with hope and happiness that made my chest tight. “Past Jimmy probably overthought this whole thing. Tried to make it perfect, worried about every detail.”

“He did.” Ethan's smile was soft, remembering. “He planned our first real date for weeks. Color-coded spreadsheets and everything.”

“Of course he did.” I couldn't help but laugh. “Meanwhile, Current Jimmy just went with it and got a perfect moment anyway.”

“Maybe that's the point,” Ethan said thoughtfully. “Sometimes the best moments are the ones we don't try to control.”

A branch cracked somewhere behind us, followed by what sounded like Nina attempting to prevent Mrs. Henderson from documenting our emotional breakthrough for posterity.

“Though I have to admit,” I added, “the audience participation is a unique touch.”

“They care about you.” Ethan's hand found mine, squeezing gently. “About us. Even if their methods are a bit...”

“Enthusiastically invasive?”

“I was going to say passionate, but that works too.”

Standing there under our canopy of lights, surrounded by probably half the town's population poorly hiding in various foliage, I felt something settle into place. Not a full memory, but a certainty - like my heart knew something my mind was still figuring out.

Maybe this was the start of something extraordinary. Not because it was perfect or planned or exactly like before, but because it was ours. New and old all at once, familiar and fresh, full of possibilities we could discover together.

Even if those discoveries came with commentary, betting pools, and an entire town's worth of enthusiastic supporters hiding in bushes.

Some stories were worth an audience, after all.